


First Impressions Are Overrated

by Leslie_Knope



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fandom Trumps Hate, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, POV Stiles, Single Parent Derek, Werewolf Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 17:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10667814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leslie_Knope/pseuds/Leslie_Knope
Summary: In Stiles’ defense, he didn’tdeliberatelyram his grocery cart into the (evidently precarious) pyramid of oranges.





	First Impressions Are Overrated

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for the lovely [rubyredhoodling](http://rubyredhoodling.tumblr.com/), who won this during the [Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/) charity auction and who was _so_ patient waiting for this while I finished [The Payoff Pitch](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9621980/chapters/21738410). Thank you, love, and I hope you like it!

In Stiles’ defense, he didn’t _deliberately_ ram his grocery cart into the (evidently precarious) pyramid of oranges.

In fact, he would challenge anyone to maintain full control of any kind of vehicle after encountering the guy he just saw. Tall, broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, and a _baby_ strapped to his chest, some adorable little thing with the guy’s dark hair and light eyes. And holy _fuck_ , Stiles never really knew that babies did it for him—maybe that was a byproduct of getting older?—but he was ready to swear on his multiple gaming consoles that this vision was the sexiest thing he’d actually ever seen.

So honestly, no one could blame Stiles for twisting his head to get as long of a look as possible, produce pyramids be damned. But based on the murderous glare of the aproned guy who was coming over to help him corral the oranges, Stiles guessed that he wasn’t going to accept “but, _stubble_!” as a valid excuse for his clumsiness.

With a mournful sigh, Stiles said a mental goodbye to Hot Dad and crouched down to reach for as many oranges as he could. Thankfully, not very many people were around to witness his abject humiliation—Stiles grocery-shopped at 9 p.m. on weekdays for this exact reason—so he was hoping that he could get out of this without any awkward stares.

Stiles assumed that everyone had quickly fled from the ankle-twisting deluge of fruit now littering the linoleum floor of the produce section, so he was startled beyond belief when someone squatted down next to him. It was the _guy_ , and it was only an act of god, probably, that kept Stiles from falling straight back onto his ass in shock.

“Oh,” he said, eyes wide, with a slightly hysterical chuckle. “Sorry for the, uh—yeah. You probably wouldn’t believe me if I said I was distracted by seeing an angel or something, right?”

Because that wasn’t _technically_ a lie.

“No, probably not,” Hot Dad said, with a little closed-mouth smile, and _fuck_ , he had a nice voice. Stiles was kinda hoping for some kind of gross smoker’s croak, just for fairness’ sake, but nope.

Hot Dad leaned right into Stiles’ space while reaching for a wayward orange, which put the baby strapped to his chest right up against Stiles. A baby who was clearly upset by all the jostling, considering the way she stared up at him, frowned, tipped her head forward, and then threw up all over Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles jerked back in surprise just as the guy gasped and stood up. “ _Fuck_. God, man, I’m so sorry, shit,” he said, his cheeks quickly reddening. He held out a hand to Stiles, helping him to his feet before he went back to his cart and rummaged through a large bag.

Stiles peered down at himself, plucking the damp material away from his skin. “Dude, don’t even worry about it,” he said, and he wasn’t even lying. Yeah, it was kinda gross and smelled pretty bad, but at least it wasn’t too overwhelming, volume-wise.

Hot Dad came back with a set of wet wipes and quickly cleaned the baby’s mouth before reaching for Stiles’ shirt. A big, warm hand closed around Stiles’ shoulder to hold him steady as the guy dabbed carefully at the stain on his chest. Stiles swallowed hard and tried—unsuccessfully—to fight the urge to flex.

“I can tell you from experience that it should wash out,” Hot Dad said, his brow furrowed as he concentrated. He was _warm_ , Stiles could tell even from this distance, and he was pretty sure that he couldn’t look directly into his eyes, it was like looking into the sun. And that train of thought was rapidly becoming inappropriate, considering that there was baby vomit on his chest and said baby was squished in between them.

“Good to know,” Stiles forced out, stepping back to put more space in between them as soon as the guy dropped his hand.

“I’m, uh, Derek, by the way. And this is Elise,” he said, gesturing to the baby. Elise stared up at him, and Stiles stuck his tongue out at her playfully, making her giggle. “I really am so sorry,” Derek said, scratching at the back of his neck, and Stiles waved a hand.

“Seriously, man, no hard feelings,” he said. “Elise, now, that’s a different story. I mean, she did throw up right on Captain America’s face. I’m pretty sure that’s a federal crime or something, you know, desecrating national monuments.”

Derek huffed and shook his head, that little smile lurking around the corners of his mouth again. “And here I was thinking we could avoid a life of crime until she was at least a toddler.”

“I think you’ve still got time to get her back on the straight and narrow.”

“Let’s hope so. Can I, uh,” Derek said, his voice trailing off as he looked around. “Coffee! Let me buy you a coffee. Please.”

Beacon Hills had recently gotten a _fancy_ grocery store, one of those with a sushi bar and a sandwich counter and even a damn coffee shop right in the middle. Stiles opened his mouth, ready to deny and escape for his own sanity, but then closed it again. He wasn’t in the mood to stammer through an awkward conversation with a hot stranger, as was his usual MO, but… There was nothing Stiles could think of that signaled unavailability more than an infant attached to one’s person, so he certainly wasn’t going to waste any time pining over this one. Actually, he was surprisingly relaxed, nay, even _cheerful_ about getting a few extra minutes to stare—non-creepily, if at all possible—at Derek’s gorgeous face.

“Sure,” he said, exhaling after a pause that was probably too long.

Derek _grinned_ , all blindingly white teeth, and Stiles immediately regretted his decision. Jesus Christ, that smile should be illegal. “Great!” he said, then turned and walked the several steps to the coffee counter. Stiles followed him on autopilot, keeping his eyes firmly at shoulder-level and no lower, until Derek looked over his shoulder and smirked. “Your cart?”

Stiles cursed under his breath and spun on his heel to retrieve his cart. Yeah, this not-awkward plan was going _great_. The aproned guy, having just placed the final orange back on the pyramid, frowned at him, and he glared back.

“A mocha for me, please,” Derek was saying to the barista when Stiles stepped up next to him. “And…?”

“Just a, uh, small coffee with room for milk, thank you,” he said, smiling at her. She nodded, looking bored, and took Derek’s cash before turning to make their drinks. The silence was comfortable, not awkward, as they waited, and Stiles forced himself not to fill it. The energy had to go somewhere, though, so he rocked back and forth on his heels and refused to look over at Derek.

“What’s your name?”

Stiles startled, stumbling over nothing, and cursed the blush he could feel darkening his cheeks. “Oh! Uh, Stiles, yep, that’s me. Stiles.”

Derek smiled again, just a small one this time, and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Stiles sighed inwardly and took his hand, which was even warmer and firmer than he expected. Fuck.

Their drinks were ready then, so Stiles stirred in some sugar and half-and-half, focusing all of his attention on not spilling. “No decaf?” Derek asked, after they stepped out of the way and off to the side.

“Caffeine barely affects me anymore,” Stiles said, with a mournful sigh. “Holdover from grad school, unfortunately. What’s your excuse?”

Derek grabbed Elise’s foot and jostled it, making her giggle. “This little one. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately, so I’ll probably be awake anyway.”

Stiles winced. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, you’re not allowed to apologize to me,” Derek said, gesturing to his shirt, and Stiles laughed.

“Seriously, it’s fine. I mean, a lot of my first impressions involve bodily fluids, and this wasn’t even the worst one.”

Derek quirked one eyebrow in response, his mouth twisted in a smirk, and Stiles winced. “Wait, that’s not what I—uh, I’m a kindergarten teacher, that’s what I meant to say.” Derek just nodded, his eyes shining with barely-disguised laughter, and Stiles really needed to get out of this with his dignity intact. Well, at least without it in _complete_ tatters. He thumbed over his shoulder awkwardly. “I should, uh, probably go finish my shopping before they figure out who toppled the oranges and I get banned from ever coming back.”

Derek chuckled, and Stiles smiled in reflex. “Good luck. Once again, I’m really sorry.”

“No big. I mean, Elise and I are now in a lifelong feud that will probably culminate in a Hatfield-and-McCoy-esque family vendetta over the decades to come, but you and I are good.”

Derek laughed again and lifted a hand as Stiles backed away. “Good to know. See you around, Stiles.”

“And thanks for the coffee!” he called out, waving awkwardly. Stiles then spun around, his face hot, and quickly took refuge around the corner in the cereal aisle. Goddamn, he did a pretty terrible job at the whole not-being-awkward thing. He took a couple deep breaths and shook his head—everything was going to be fine, and he would never have to see Hot Dad again.

* * *

Stiles hiked Charlie a little higher up on his hip and huffed as he crested the hill. Babies and all their crap were heavy, especially when said baby refused to walk on his own and just reached up to Stiles with a plaintive look on his face.

“Does this look like a good spot, kiddo?” he asked as he plopped Charlie down on his butt and shook out the blanket he had tucked under his other arm. He babbled at him, reaching out with a gummy hand, and Stiles couldn’t help but smile. God, with Allison’s dimples and Scott’s puppy dog eyes, this kid was gonna be a heartbreaker.

He was cute enough that Stiles certainly didn’t mind spending an afternoon at the park with him, especially on a warm August day when he basically just had to hang out in the shade and make sure that Charlie didn’t actually swallow any of the myriad things he put in his mouth.

Stiles was stretched out on his stomach next to Charlie, trying to encourage him to say _Stiles_ , when a shadow fell over their blanket. He craned his neck up, squinting into the brightness, and didn’t quite believe the figure that he saw, backlit against the sun.

“Derek!” he exclaimed, scrambling to a seated position. He was dressed more casually this time, in a pair of shorts and a tight t-shirt with Elise strapped to his chest again, and was somehow even more handsome than Stiles had remembered. “Wow, hey.”

“Hi, Stiles,” he said with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“Great, great. You should, uh, join us,” he said, gesturing to their blanket. “We have the fanciest blanket around, as you can see, and this is the best spot in the park.”

“You sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Please, intrude away.”

Derek smiled again and sat down, unbuckling Elise from her carrier and lifting it off his shoulders. He slid his aviators off and tucked them into the v-neck of his shirt, his collar sliding down to reveal about an inch of chest hair. Jesus, it was a good thing that Stiles was already seated.

“Hello, Elise,” Stiles said sternly, mock-frowning at her, but he couldn’t help but smile when she and Derek both laughed at him.

“Is he yours?” Derek asked, dipping his head toward Charlie, and Stiles shook his head.

“Oh, no, little Charlie here is my best friend’s kid,” he said, absently smoothing the little boy’s hair. “When they asked me to be the godfather, they didn’t mention that the main job duty is apparently always being available for last-minute babysitting when mom and dad wanna bone.”

Derek laughed, leaning back on his hands. “Well, that’s very kind of you. I’m sure they appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well, nothing else better to do on a Saturday afternoon,” he quipped, then immediately regretted it as his face flushed. “O- _kay_ , so let’s just ignore the fact that I basically just admitted to having no life, yes?”

“Well, I’m here, too, so…” Derek said, shrugging, and Stiles grinned.

“Good point,” he said, reaching for Charlie as he tried to crawl off the blanket and depositing him next to Elise. “This could be your future wife, buddy, you never know. So let’s make a good first impression, huh?”

“She’s really good at those,” Derek said dryly, and Stiles laughed.

“Well, the stain came right out, just like you said, so I’m not even holding a grudge anymore.”

“Thank goodness for that,” he said, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. At the first glance of dark hair dusted across his stomach, Stiles flushed and averted his gaze, busying himself unnecessarily with straightening Charlie’s shirt. God, this was clearly karmic retribution for _something_ —Stiles wasn’t sure yet whether it was good or bad. “So how old is he?”

“A little over a year. But parents count in months, right? So he’s, uh, 14 months. How old is Elise?”

“Almost 10 months.”

They chattered mindlessly about the kids for a little while, and Charlie managed not to trample Elise or steal her toys or do anything else embarrassing. Stiles found himself on his stomach in between them, carefully doling out the colorful blocks that he found in Charlie’s diaper bag. Elise looked thoroughly unimpressed by his block-stacking skills, her little face scrunched up in a frown, and Stiles sighed in mock despair. “I know, I know, I’m probably not as talented as your dad, huh?”

Derek coughed, and if Stiles wasn’t mistaken, his cheeks were a little red. “Actually I’m, uh, her uncle.”

“Oh,” Stiles said dumbly, blinking a couple times. Shit, maybe that meant that Derek wasn’t as outrageously unavailable as he once thought. _Double_ shit, that was a lot of pressure. Stiles tried to keep his facial expression neutral while frantically trying to silence the parts of his brain that were simultaneously cheering and panicking. “Oh. So they’ve got you on babysitting duty, too, huh?”

Derek exhaled, his mouth dipping into a small frown as he fiddled with the wispy hairs at the base of Elise’s neck, and Stiles froze. He recognized that awkward, sad look. “My, uh—my sister and her husband, Elise’s parents, died in a car accident five months ago.”

Stiles grimaced and immediately looked down at Elise, who was currently using all of her attention to blow a spit bubble. “Shit,” he said quietly, blowing out a breath. “Wow, that really fucking sucks.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, with a little snort. “It really does.”

Stiles _knew_ , as someone who had experienced his fair share of mourners, that saying sorry was pointless—it wasn’t their fucking fault—but he said it anyway. “I’m so sorry, Derek.”

Derek ducked his head and murmured a _thanks_.

“So is Elise…” He gestured awkwardly.

“Mine?” Derek asked, and Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I have full custody now.”

“Shit,” he said again. “Wow, that’s—that’s amazing.”

Derek just shrugged, the tips of his ears turning red. “Didn’t even have to think about it. Selfishly, I’m so happy I have her. She’s helped me with a lot of the grief.”

Stiles licked his lips and for once, thought through his words before he spoke. “My mom died when I was a kid. I can’t—I just can’t imagine losing both of them. So I guess there’s the tiniest of silver linings that at least she won’t remember it?”

Derek visibly swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, I try to remember that. Right now, mostly _I_ just miss Laura. She was my best friend.”

There were no adequate words, Stiles knew, so he reached out and squeezed Derek’s knee.

“Shit!” Charlie crowed proudly, breaking the heavy silence, and Stiles dropped his head into his hands with a plaintive groan.

“Oh, god. Scott’s gonna _kill_ me.”

Derek smiled, and even though it was small, it looked genuine. “Eh, you can blame it on me. I think I still owe you for the vomit incident.”

Stiles’ phone buzzed in his pocket, and he lifted his hips to fish it out. “Speaking of, they apparently want their baby back now.”

“Here, lemme get your number,” Derek said, digging through the bag he brought. “If you’re stuck babysitting again, get in touch and maybe we can hang out.”

Stiles barely stifled a gleeful noise and nodded, hoping that his face didn’t belie his excitement. “That offer better be sincere because I’m probably going to have him a lot. I think they’re trying again. For someone who’s not even _involved_ in the process, I know way too much about Allison’s ovulation.”

Derek wrinkled his nose as he handed his phone over to Stiles. “Yikes. My condolences.”

“Thanks, dude,” Stiles said with a laugh as he tapped in his number and sent a text to himself.

* * *

Scott answered the door grinning. His cheeks were flushed, and he had that bright look in his eye that Stiles was unfortunately all too familiar with. “Hey, buddy.”

“Hey, Scotty. How was _your_ afternoon?”

Scott’s grin took on a dreamy quality, and when he opened his mouth, Stiles held up a hand and interrupted him. “Please don’t. I don’t actually want to know.”

“So how was the park?”

“It was _great_.”

“Wait, what’s that look on your face?” Scott said, his face turning wary. “What did you do? What do you want?”

“I didn’t _do_ anything! Well, actually,” he amended, “if Charlie says a bad word, that’s definitely not my fault.”

Scott’s brow wrinkled, but Stiles pushed past him into the kitchen before he could say anything about it. “So remember the guy I told you about, Derek?”

Scott nodded as he took Charlie from Stiles’ arms. “Yeah, the one who caused you to make a scene in the grocery store and whose daughter threw up on you?”

“That’s the one,” he said with a sigh, falling into one of the bar stools. When he told Scott the story last week, he’d nearly fallen out of his chair laughing, and Stiles had _not_ been pleased. “Well, we ran into him at the park, and he asked for my _number_. Scotty, you don’t understand, he is easily the most attractive person who has ever been in possession of my phone number.”

Scott laughed and bounced Charlie on his hip. “That’s great. Did you ask him out?”

“See, this is where you come in,” he said, grinning, and Scott narrowed his eyes.

“Explain, please.”

“So he did ask for my number, but it was because of the kids,” Stiles admitted. “He thought it was nice that I babysit for you guys so often, and he said to get in touch if I wanted to hang out while I had Charlie.”

“Hang on, hang on. So you’re using my _kid_ to get laid?”

Stiles rolled his eyes at the indignant look on Scott’s face. “Considering that I watch your kid so that _you_ can get laid, then absolutely, yes, yes I am.”

Scott sighed. “Fair enough. And of course you can watch him, whenever you want. When were you thinking?”

“Maybe Saturday? That seems safe since I ran into him today. And then I can text him on Thursday.”

“Wow, you’ve really thought this through,” Scott said, grinning, and Stiles tipped his head forward with a groan.

“Even you and your hard-won heterosexuality would be impressed by the sheer force of his hotness. And he is _so_ good with kids, it’s a little disturbing how much that does it for me, apparently.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Is he into dudes?”

“I have no idea. But I’m gonna try to find out.”

* * *

Stiles agonized over his text for a solid 15 minutes before he sent it. He rejected a few intricate drafts—sarcasm didn’t always come across very well via text when he didn’t know the person well—and eventually decided that simple was probably the way to go.

He set his phone on the desk on the other side of the apartment after he sent it, trying to decrease the chance that he would check it every six seconds. It buzzed just a couple minutes later, though, and he leapt up to get it, nearly braining himself on the coffee table.

**Stiles:** I’m watching Charlie again on Saturday. Did he make a good enough impression on Elise?  
  
**Derek:** She could probably be convinced. Lunch?  
  
**Stiles:** Awesome. 12:30?  
  
**Derek:** That works. You know that outdoor café a couple blocks from the park?  
  
**Stiles:** Yep, see you then!

Stiles agonized for a second about the exclamation point after he sent the final text, not wanting to sound too eager, but decided to let it go. He may or may not have done an enthusiastic fist pump dance—he lived alone, no one could confirm or deny—and flopped down onto the couch with a grin.

* * *

Stiles spent a little too much time picking out an outfit for what was ostensibly a playdate. An outfit that, based on his previous interactions with Derek’s niece, had a 50-50 chance of being thrown up on.

Whatever, these were the jeans that made his ass look nice.

Once he got to the cafe, he somehow managed to keep his cool when he spotted Derek, already seated at a table out on the patio. “Hey, there,” he said, and Derek looked up at him, smiling from behind his aviators.

“Hi.”

“Do you want—” he asked, gesturing to the one high chair at the end of the small table, but Derek shook his head.

“Nah, Elise is fine on my lap. Go ahead.”

Stiles got Charlie settled in the chair with a little cup of puffy cereal—they tasted like puffs of air to him, honestly, but the kid went crazy for them.

He was determined not to let this get awkward for even a minute, so he chattered on about the kids. Answering questions about Elise seemed to draw Derek out of his shell, and the waiter had to clear his throat to interrupt them when he stopped by to take their orders.

As soon as he left, Derek’s gaze shifted to the side, and he waved to someone behind Stiles. “Hi, Sheriff.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped, and he twisted around to see his dad, in full uniform, coming over to them. “Hello, Derek, Elise,” he said, rubbing a hand over Elise’s head and then turning to Stiles with a smirk. “Son.”

“Dad?” he asked. “How do you—what are you doing here?”

“The sheriff is your dad?” Derek asked, grinning, and Stiles sighed.

“Explains so much, right?” his dad said, clapping him on the shoulder, and Derek laughed.

“You want to join us?” Derek offered, gesturing to the table. Stiles opened his mouth, ready to offer some excuse—he really didn’t want his _dad_ sitting in on his maybe-first-date with Derek—but his dad was already shaking his head.

“As _much_ as I want to, believe me,” he said, shooting a little grin at Stiles because he definitely knew what was going on, that little shit, “I actually have a meeting to get to.”

They waved goodbye, and Stiles leaned over to give Charlie a few sips of water from his glass. “How do you know my dad?” he asked, then immediately winced when Derek’s face dropped. Shit, he was an idiot—he should’ve known. People didn’t generally know his dad for good reasons, and he was pretty sure Derek wasn’t in the habit of getting arrested.

“After the, uh, the accident, he watched Elise for a couple hours before any of us could get there.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding, and thankfully their waiter came by with their food before the moment could become too awkward.

“So your name is Stiles Stilinski?” Derek said, wrinkling his nose, and Stiles laughed.

“Stiles is a far better nickname than my _actual_ name, believe me.”

“Then you must’ve grown up here, right?” he asked. “He’s been the sheriff for a long time.”

“Born and raised,” Stiles confirmed. “Went off to Berkeley for undergrad and grad school, came back a few months ago. I thought about staying in the area, but I really missed being near my dad and Scott and my other friends.”

“I was living in the Bay Area, too,” Derek said, nodding. “Until…well, you know.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Kinda,” Derek said, with a little shrug. “But I grew up here, and now, with everything that’s happened, it’s good to be around family.”

“Any other siblings?”

“I have a younger sister, Cora.”

“Oh!” Stiles exclaimed. “You’re a Hale, then. I was in the same high school class as Cora.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, nodding. “So you and I didn’t overlap, then—I’m four years older than her.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Good. She went to school in LA, but she’s back now, too. She’s a web developer. You said you were a kindergarten teacher, right?”

“Yeah, I got my grad degree in elementary education, and I’m starting as the new kindergarten teacher at Beacon Hills Elementary next month.”

“That’s great,” Derek said, grinning, and Stiles laughed.

“Thanks. What about you, what do you do? Roll around in your piles of money like Scrooge McDuck?” Stiles asked with a smirk. Everyone knew that the Hales were rich.

Derek rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “No, I’m a writer.”

“Wow, that’s awesome, dude. What kind of writing?”

“Mostly fiction. Novels.”

“Anything I’ve read?”

“Maybe,” Derek said, the corners of his mouth quirking up just a bit. “I write under a pseudonym.”

“Which you’re not going to tell me,” Stiles surmised, and Derek grinned.

“Correct.”

Stiles groaned and propped his chin on his hand while he pushed his fork through the lettuce leaves on his plate. “I’ll get it out of you sometime.”

“You’re more than welcome to try.”

Stiles hummed and narrowed his eyes—he was pretty sure that was flirting. “So what else do you do, when you’re not being a mysterious writer?”

“I don’t have a whole lot of time for anything else anymore,” Derek said, jostling Elise a little and looking down at her with a fond look. “I like baseball, though.”

Stiles’ eyes lit up. “Ooh, me too. You’re not a Mets fan by any chance, are you?”

“No,” Derek said, grimacing. “The Giants.”

“Eh,” he said with a little shrug. “Could be worse. You could be a Dodgers fan.”

Derek shuddered. “Never.”

“The Mets are playing the Giants this weekend, actually,” Stiles said.

Derek nodded. “Yeah, I watched the game last night. And I think they’re the national game tomorrow night on ESPN.”

“Ooh, awesome,” Stiles said.

Derek dipped his head to give Elise a piece of roasted potato from his salad to gnaw on. “You could, uh, come over to my place to watch it. If you wanted to.”

“Really?” Stiles asked, trying not to look too excited. In reality, he wanted to fist pump again and maybe do a little dance on top of the table. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”

“Sounds good,” Derek said. His head was still down, but Stiles was pretty sure he saw the ghost of a smile.

* * *

“But _we_ watch baseball together,” Scott said, the puppy dog eyes out in full force, and Stiles sighed.

“Yeah, well, you’re just gonna have to make do, _somehow_ , tomorrow night. Because _I_ ,” he said proudly, “have a maybe-date.”

“It sounds like a date to me,” Scott said, shrugging. “He invited you to his house!”

“Yeah, but he just moved back to town, dude. What if he’s just looking for new friends?”

“Or maybe he’s trying to suss _you_ out,” Scott pointed out. “Like, maybe he wants to date you, but if you aren’t into guys, then he just wants to be friends.”

Stiles opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Damn it, he always hated himself a little bit when he was surprised by Scott making an astute observation. “That’s actually a really good point, Scotty.”

Scott rolled his eyes, as if he knew exactly what Stiles was thinking. “Yeah, just mention something about an ex-boyfriend or something. If he seems weirded out or whatever, then you probably don’t wanna be friends with him, anyway.”

“Living in San Francisco, looking the way he does…,” Stiles said, shaking his head, “there was no way he wasn’t propositioned like every day.”

“Oh my god, the way you talk about this guy, when I finally meet him I’m gonna be expecting like Captain America or something.”

Stiles snorted. “Way hotter than Captain America,” he said, and Scott’s eyes widened.

“ _Dude_ ,” he said, stretching out the word, suitably impressed.

“Who’s hotter than Captain America?” Allison asked, walking into the kitchen, and Scott twisted to grin at her.

“Derek, apparently,” he said, and she hummed appreciatively.

“Ooh, nice job, Stiles.”

“You told her about Derek?” Stiles asked Scott.

“Obviously,” Allison answered. “If you’re using my kid, then I deserve to hear the details. And we’re living vicariously through you and your love life gossip for our boring married life.”

“Our boring married life is awesome,” Scott said, smiling dreamily, and Allison winked at him.

“Damn straight,” she said, leaning closer.

Stiles watched them kiss, wrinkling his nose even as he was reluctantly charmed. Man, they were gross. And also adorable. And he maybe wouldn’t mind being gross and adorable with Derek. Fuck.

“So what’s going on?” Allison asked, heading over to the fridge after she managed to separate her face from Scott’s. “How was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Stiles clarified, and both of them rolled their eyes.

“Okay, sorry. How was your _playdate_ , then?” she said with a smirk. Scott laughed, and Stiles glared at her. His friends were the worst.

* * *

Derek answered the door in one of his customary henleys—seriously, did he _own_ anything else? Not that Stiles was complaining, honestly—and only had to smile at him before Stiles practically collapsed into a pile of goo.

“Hey,” he blurted out, thrusting forward the adorable blue stuffed bunny that he’d found in his frantic dash through Target half an hour ago. “I didn’t know what you needed in terms of housewarming gifts, so I figured I should keep trying to get on Elise’s good side.”

Derek laughed and took it from him, ushering him inside. “Always a good plan, thank you. She’s asleep right now but probably not for long, so you’ll have your chance to give it to her.”

“Bribe her, you mean,” he corrected, and Derek smirked at him.

“Sorry for the mess. I moved in recently, obviously, and it’s been a little busy.”

“Oh, come on, it looks great,” Stiles said honestly. There were a couple of boxes strewn around, sure, but the house was cozy and well-decorated with warm walls and modern, clean furniture. “This is a nice place.”

“Yeah, I could’ve moved into their house, but—” Derek shook his head. “I just couldn’t.”

Stiles grimaced. “I don’t blame you.”

Derek coughed and gestured to the kitchen. “C’mon in. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“You _cooked_?” Stiles asked, incredulous, as he sniffed the air and stepped down into the kitchen. Whatever it was, it smelled amazing.

“I invited you over at dinnertime, didn’t I?” he said, quirking an eyebrow. “What were you expecting?”

“I mean, if we were at my place, we would be having take out, so…”

Derek laughed. “Well, I like to cook.”

“Lucky me,” Stiles says, “Whatever it is, it smells great.”

“Enchiladas.”

“Wow,” he breathed. “Are you serious, that’s amazing.”

“Easily impressed,” Derek said, smirking as he slipped on an oven mitt and bent over to take the dish from the oven. Stiles’ eyes did _not_ automatically drop down to his ass, no sir. “Good to know.”

Derek set the red ceramic baking dish on the stovetop, and Stiles watched as Derek’s hand made contact with the dish that was straight out of the oven. He yelped, making Derek jump and curse.

“Holy shit, Derek.”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, turning away as he held his hand to his chest.

Stiles shook his head and moved closer, towing Derek by the elbow over to the sink. “No, put it under cold running water. I know my first aid.”

Stiles flipped the water on as cold as it would go and forced Derek’s hand under the stream, holding it there. He realized after several seconds that Derek _probably_ didn’t need the literal hand-holding, but the realization wasn’t enough to make him stop.

After maybe a minute, he brought Derek’s hand up for a closer look. The tan skin was unmarred, not even red. “Wow, look at that. Not even a mark, that’s amazing.”

“I think it was more of a glancing blow,” Derek said, then cleared his throat.

Stiles jerked his gaze up and belatedly noticed that their sides were flush and their faces were absurdly close to each other. They were the same height, actually, which was a little surprising, and all Stiles would have to do was lean forward just an inch…

The strident noise of a wailing baby interrupted them, and Stiles lost his balance in surprise, smacking his forehead on Derek’s shoulder. “Shit,” he muttered, and Derek laughed, sliding a quick arm around Stiles’ waist to rebalance him.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, grabbing Stiles’ bunny before darting out of the room.

Stiles took a deep breath and fanned himself. Okay, maybe this _was_ a date. Sure, there was a third-wheeling baby, but Derek cooked—that had to mean something, right?

He distracted himself by attempting to be helpful, poking into the cabinets until he found plates and rummaging through the fridge for drinks. Derek didn’t appear to have any beer—maybe he didn’t drink, Stiles should remember that—but grapefruit seltzer was pretty delicious.

He’d served up two servings of enchiladas by the time Derek walked back through the door. “I think your bunny is magic. She’s back asleep.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re just placating me, but I’ll take it,” he said, holding out a plate, and Derek laughed.

“Thanks for getting this together. I’m not exactly being the best host.”

“Oh my god, you cannot say that, you made _enchiladas_ ,” Stiles said, daring to reach out and tap Derek’s chest. “Now come on, the game’s already started.”

Derek had a pretty sweet-ass TV, and they ate on the couch with the game on, plates balanced in their laps.

“So is it hard, suddenly having an infant around?” he asked, and Derek nodded.

“Yeah, definitely. Luckily, there were a lot of cousins around while I was growing up, so I at least have some experience with kids, and a lot of my family live nearby. And it’s—it’s good to have something to focus on, you know?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. _And_ she’s cute.”

“Yeah, there’s that, too,” Derek said, laughing.

Stiles insisted on washing the dishes, literally walking away from Derek’s protestations, and when he was done, his gaze caught on the room just off the foyer.

“Wait, oh my god, do you have a library?” Stiles called out, craning his neck to see into the room. He was nothing if not nosy.

“Yeah, it’s my office.”

“So is it like your secret lair, or…” he hedged, taking a step in that direction, and Derek laughed.

“No, you can see.”

Stiles pushed the door open and practically groaned with jealousy. There were shelves and shelves of books, floor-to-ceiling, and even an honest-to-god _ladder_. He stepped around the large desk in the middle of the room to take a closer look at the books.

“I judge everyone’s bookshelves, don’t take it personally,” Stiles said over his shoulder as he tilted his head to skim the spines. “But this _will_ affect everything about our friendship and how I see you as a person, so...”

“So no pressure,” Derek said, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed.

“Exactly. Oh, and here is your baby book shelf,” Stiles said, laughing when he saw the collection of colorful spines. “Why the hell did you buy _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_?”

“I thought it might be helpful!” he protested, and Stiles grinned at the mulish look on his face. “They have a whole section at the end about after the baby’s born.”

“Ooh, you like Paul Feldman?” Stiles said, reaching for a book with a familiar title but a cover design that he didn’t recognize. “You get cool points for that, he’s my favorite author.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. His first novel came out when I was a freshman in college, and I loved it so much that I basically forced everyone I know to read it. So, you know,” he said loftily, sniffing a little with a small grin, “I like to take the credit for his success.”

“Oh, do you now?” Derek said, and when Stiles lifted his head to look at him, his little smirk had stretched to a full-out grin. “Well, I wonder how he feels about that.”

Stiles blinked, then gasped and looked down at the book in his hand. None of the books had a picture of the author, and Stiles had never been able to find out anything about him online. As he flipped it over, he found the familiar author bio, which was always the same singular line. “Paul Feldman lives in northern California,” he read aloud, then looked up at Derek, who was now trying to hide his smile, rather unsuccessfully. “Holy shit, this is you!”

“Yeah,” he admitted, stepping further into the room.

“Are you _serious_?” Stiles said, using the book to point at Derek. “Don’t fuck with me about this.”

“I am completely serious. Look at the bottom shelf.”

There was a full shelf of Paul Feldman books, even in different languages. “Okay,” Stiles admitted, “so either you’re him, or you’re his biggest fanboy ever. And I was pretty sure I held that illustrious title, so…”

“It’s really me.”

“Whoa,” Stiles breathed, clutching the book closer to his chest unconsciously. “I am going to have _so_ many questions.”

“Anytime.”

“You’re gonna regret saying that, probably,” he said, bending down to put the book back.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, frowning adorably at him. “You keep moving your neck and grimacing.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, twisting his head. “I’m fine. Just slept funny last night or something. Weird crick in my shoulders.”

Derek jerked his chin and tugged down the sleeves of his shirt. “Turn around.”

Stiles blinked. “Wh—”

“Turn around,” Derek said again, lifting his hands.

Miraculously, Stiles managed not to shudder or react in some other embarrassing way when Derek touched him, his hands big and warm, even through Stiles’ shirt. He quickly forgot about it, though, because after just a couple minutes, the deep knot seemingly vanished into thin air. Stiles’ shoulders slumped in relief, relaxed for the first time all day, and he groaned.

“Derek,” he said, drawing it out, “you’re the best.”

Derek cleared his throat, coughing a little as he turned away. “Better?”

“Magic, I tell you,” he said, carefully moving his shoulders and grinning when the motion didn’t hurt. “C’mon, let’s go see if the Mets have put your poor Giants out of their mercy yet.”

* * *

After the game ended, Stiles stretched. This was _always_ the most awkward part of a date—and apparently, the same was true for a maybe-date. “Well, it’s getting pretty late. I should probably get going.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, standing up and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Yeah, thanks for coming over.”

“Thank _you_. If you keep making me food, I won’t be able to stay away,” he said, and Derek grinned as he flipped the deadbolt on the front door. He opened his mouth to say something, but Elise started crying again, a faint wail from the back of the house.

“Sorry,” he said, with a little grimace. “I should…get that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Stiles said, patting Derek’s chest again. That was safe-ish. “Go take care of her, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay,” he said softly, and the smile he gave Stiles was small and pretty much the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. “Good night.”

Stiles closed the door behind himself and exhaled. He was…70% sure that was a date.

Maybe.

* * *

**Stiles:** So after that dinner, I need to make it up to you.  
  
**Derek:** You’re really fixated on those enchiladas.  
  
**Stiles:** Dude, they were so good!  
  
**Derek:** I suppose I’ll let you pay me back. If you want.  
  
**Stiles:** Dinner at my place on Friday?  
  
**Derek:** I can be there at 7.

* * *

When Derek knocked at the door at 6:59 on Friday night, Stiles took a deep breath and brushed off his hands. Casual, relaxed, no big deal. Everything was fine.

When he opened the door, Stiles blinked and even peered around Derek, but he appeared to be alone. “Hello. You seem to be missing your child.”

“No,” Derek said, with a little smirk. “She’s with Cora. But I see how it is, you’re only interested in the baby.”

Stiles was a little rattled—this increased the date chances to at _least_ 90 percent, holy shit—and rolled his eyes to cover it. “Very funny,” he said, ushering Derek inside. “Come in, come in. Welcome to my humble abode.”

“It’s nice,” he said politely, looking around the apartment that Stiles had hastily cleaned about 45 minutes ago. There was some laundry under his bed, sure, but he wasn’t letting himself think about any scenario in which that might be relevant.

“It’s a little small, I know, but at least there aren’t any boxes,” he said, smirking, and Derek made a face. He sniffed and moved past Stiles into the kitchen.

“Something smells good. I thought you implied that you would only be providing take-out,” he said, leaning against the breakfast bar, and Stiles tried to drag his gaze away from his forearms.

“Well, lasagna is like the _one_ meal I can make. It’s no enchiladas, but…”

Derek rolled his eyes, then he moved closer as he caught sight of the line of jars on the counter. “Wait, did you buy baby food for Elise?”

“I thought it would be rude not to provide food for everyone!” he protested, and Derek laughed.

“You got quite a selection here.”

“They have so many crazy flavors! And they’re pretty good,” he admitted. “I ate one of the beet-apple-sweet potato ones.”

Derek laughed again—Stiles could really get used to hearing that sound. “I’m partial to the banana-blueberry, myself,” he said, and Stiles nodded solemnly.

“Good to know, I’ll have to remember that.”

The lasagna turned out well, praise the lord, and they graduated from eating dinner on the couch to sitting at the breakfast bar, their knees and shoulders bumping. Stiles had prepped some conversation topics in advance—a task he usually didn’t need to bother with, but he _liked_ Derek and was more than a little nervous—and kept Derek talking about his childhood and his novels.

Derek picked a movie on HBO, at Stiles’ insistence, but the opening credits had barely ended before he was fast asleep, snoring lightly with his head tipped against the back of the couch. Stiles took a chance and grabbed Derek’s shoulder, gently guiding him down so that he was horizontal. Derek murmured a little but didn’t wake up, just flipped around and mashed his face into Stiles’ hip.

Stiles carefully rested his hand on Derek’s head— _yes,_ his hair was as soft as Stiles had guessed—and settled in to watch the movie.

* * *

Derek jerked awake about an hour and a half later, and he sat up immediately, groaning as he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Oh my god, I’m the worst. I’m so sorry. Elise hasn’t been sleeping well, and—”

“Dude, it’s fine,” Stiles said, laughing. “You looked like you needed the sleep. And I’m apparently a good pillow.”

“You are,” he said, his eyes adorably sleepy, and Stiles cleared his throat.

“You, uh, want some dessert? I have ice cream. Peanut butter cup or cookies and cream.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, covering his mouth as he yawned. “Yeah, that sounds great. Cookies and cream, please.”

Stiles nodded sharply and stood up, but his leg collapsed immediately, plopping him right back down and right into Derek’s lap.

“Sorry,” Stiles said, his face flaming. “My leg fell asleep when you, uh, fell asleep on top of me.”

He managed to scramble to his feet without kneeing Derek in the balls or something—small mercies—and made it to the kitchen. The rush of cool air from the freezer felt amazing, and he took five deep breaths before he took out both ice cream containers.

They ate while watching some random show on Netflix, and after a few episodes, Derek stood up with a sigh.

“I told Cora I would pick Elise up by 11,” he said, looking almost apologetic, and Stiles nodded as he hopped off the couch.

“Well, thanks for coming over.”

Ugh, _thanks for coming over_? How much more awkward could he be, at the end of what had progressed to a probably-date? Derek smiled at him, though, and followed him to the door.

“Thanks for making dinner. And letting me sleep on you.”

“Anytime. Seriously…literally anytime,” he said, trying not to seem too excited over the possibility of that happening again.

Derek’s smile got a little bigger, and he gently pushed Stiles up against the front door with one firm hand on his chest. The intensity of his eyes made Stiles’ breath catch in his chest, and he bit his lip. Okay, _definitely_ a date, then. Good to know.

“I’m not reading this wrong, am I?” Derek asked, his voice low as his gaze darted between Stiles’ lips and his eyes.

Instead of answering, Stiles ducked forward and kissed him. Derek returned it immediately, the softness of his lips a dizzying contrast to the scratch of his beard as it scraped against Stiles’ chin. Stiles really didn’t mind being pushed up against the door, it turned out, even with the doorknob digging into his hip, and he looped both arms around Derek’s neck to tug him even closer.

Derek finally pulled back several minutes later, and Stiles was unreasonably proud of how wrecked he looked. Messy hair and bitten-red lips was a really good look on him. “I really do have to go,” he said, leaning forward for another kiss. “Unfortunately.”

“Okay,” Stiles said agreeably, then kissed him again. Derek smiled into it before putting a little space in between them.

“You better call me. Or text me, whatever.”

“I will probably text you before the night’s over, let’s be honest.”

Derek laughed and squeezed his hand. “Looking forward to it.”

* * *

Without dislodging their lips, Stiles lifted up on his knees and swung one leg over to straddle Derek’s lap. Derek’s hands came up around his waist immediately, and Stiles sighed into the kiss at the feel of him, firm and solid even through their clothes.

It took him a second to recognize that there were more noises filtering in than just their little grunts and groans, and it was yet another few seconds before his fuzzy mind registered that Elise was awake.

Derek groaned, but Stiles just laughed, sliding off his lap and patting him on the chest. “Be right back,” Derek said lowly, blowing out a breath as he levered to his feet, and Stiles leaned over to pressed a kiss to his hip.

As he watched Derek walk off toward the back of the house, Stiles ran both hands through his hair and fell back against the couch with a little groan before adjusting himself through his jeans.

They’d been dating for a couple months now, but thanks to Derek’s upcoming deadline and the start of Stiles’ new job, they hadn’t managed to go _out_ on very many dates. Mostly, their time together consisted of dinners at somebody’s house while one or both of them worked and/or played with Elise. Stiles was quickly becoming attached to the little nugget, and he loved spending time with her. When she took her first shaky steps the other day, toddling from the coffee table to Derek’s outstretched arms two feet away, Stiles was recording it on his phone and grinning nearly as widely as Derek was.

Thanks to the baby and the hectic schedules, they also hadn’t had sex yet, which was fine by Stiles—he was more than happy to take it slow, and Elise was the most precious cockblocker he’d ever seen.

Derek staggered back into the living room. “She’s back down,” he whispered, then collapsed onto the couch on top of Stiles, who let out a little _oof_ and wrapped his arms around Derek’s back.

“You seem stressed. You okay?”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbled into Stiles’ neck. “Just getting worried about the deadline. I had a lot I wanted to get done today, but somebody wasn’t in the mood to let me work.”

Stiles laughed. “She’s lucky she’s cute.”

“Yeah,” Derek said, and Stiles could feel the curve of his smile against his skin. He squeezed Derek a little tighter and smiled into his hair. Still, one of his very favorite things about Derek was how much he loved that little girl.

“Hey,” Stiles said, tugging lightly on Derek’s hair. “Why don’t you let me watch her tomorrow? I’ll come over early, and you can go spend the whole day at a coffee shop or something.”

Derek pushed up onto his hands and knees, and Stiles immediately slid his hands up to his biceps. “You’d do that?”

“Uh, duh. Of course I would.”

“I could pay you,” Derek said awkwardly, but Stiles just rolled his eyes.

“Seriously? No. That’s ridiculous. Just bring home dinner or something.”

“You sure?”

“Of course, dude.”

“Thank you,” Derek said, his voice soft as he ducked down for a gentle kiss. “That would be very helpful.”

Stiles leaned up into the kiss for a second before he wiggled out from under Derek. “I should probably get going,” he said, starting to look around for his phone.

He hadn’t stayed the night yet, either. Derek hadn’t offered, and Stiles hadn’t pushed—he knew things were different when there was a kid in the mix, and he’d prefer it if Derek took the initiative.

Derek followed him to the door and trapped him up against it, kissing him fiercely until it took everything Stiles had not to just shove him back in the direction of any horizontal surface. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he said instead, murmuring the words against the stubbly skin of Derek’s neck. He bit down, just a little, and Derek made a pained noise that Stiles really wanted to hear again. He lifted his head, though, and licked his lips as he looked at Derek expectantly.

“Yeah,” Derek said, his voice rougher than usual as he visibly dragged his gaze away from Stiles’ mouth. “Tomorrow.”

Stiles smirked to himself and slipped out the door.

* * *

“We had a good time today, didn’t we, sweetheart?” Stiles said from his cross-legged spot on the floor, and Elise babbled some nonsense at him while she held onto his hands. She wasn’t saying actual words yet, but she could really get going with those noises, and Stiles loved talking to her.

“Oh, yeah, you had fun, too?” he continued, trying to get Elise to take another step closer to him. She loved standing and holding onto things, but she hadn’t made a habit of walking very much yet.

She took a step forward and Stiles’ mouth opened in surprise, but it quickly turned to horror when Elise collapsed forward into his arms and started seizing. Stiles’ heart stopped, he was sure of it, but he managed to push his panic back enough to remember his first aid—he couldn’t let her hit her head on anything, he knew.

“Elise,” he whispered helplessly, his heart hammering as he watched her convulse in his arms, her gaze vacant. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she stilled and blinked sleepily at him.

Stiles scrambled to his feet, holding Elise gingerly to his chest, and ran to get his phone from the kitchen counter.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he chanted under his breath, keeping his nose pressed to the crown of Elise’s head.

“Hello?”

The relief coursed through Stiles so quickly that his knees wobbled, and he braced himself back against the wall. “Melissa, oh thank god.”

“Stiles? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He sucked in a breath. “I’m watching Derek’s kid, and all of a sudden she, she had this _seizure_ thing, and now she feels _really_ warm, and I don’t know what to—”

“Stiles,” she interrupted. “Is she conscious and breathing? How long did the seizure last?”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah, yeah, she seems fine now, just kinda, uh, drowsy. And I think it lasted about 30 seconds. Do I need to call 911?”

“Listen to me, everything’s gonna be fine, okay? This happens to babies sometimes, it’s called a febrile seizure, but you should bring her to the hospital to get checked out, just to be sure. I’m here.”

“Okay,” he said, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Okay. I’ll be there in, uh, 10 minutes.”

“I’ll meet you at the door,” Melissa promised, and he managed to thank her before ending the call with shaking fingers.

“Okay, little lady,” he said, hefting her higher in his arms. “Let’s go see Melissa, huh?”

She blinked at him, all sweet and precious and _alive_ , and he kissed the tip of her nose. Thankfully there was a mostly-packed diaper bag all ready to go, and Derek had the foresight to take Stiles’ car and leave his own, just in case they wanted to go anywhere.

His fingers shook as he buckled Elise into her car seat, and it took him three tries to get the straps situated correctly.

He started driving as fast as he could safely manage and rummaged in his pocket for his phone to call Derek. It rang several times before going to voicemail, and Stiles cursed as he waited for the beep. “Derek. Elise had a, uh, febrile seizure. But she’s okay,” he added hurriedly, “at least according to Scott’s mom, who’s a nurse at the hospital. We’re going there now. Just—call me, okay?”

Stiles ended the call with another curse and flung it onto the passenger seat. He kept stealing glances at Elise in the rearview mirror, but she seemed fine.

Finally they reached the hospital, and Stiles parked haphazardly before rushing inside. Melissa was waiting just inside the door, as promised, and Stiles felt his heart rate ease a little just at the sight of her.

“Who is this pretty lady?” she said, cooing at Elise as she pressed a hand to her forehead, and Stiles smiled.

“This is Elise.”

Melissa kissed Stiles’ cheek and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s going to be fine, I promise. I’m not a pediatric nurse, but I pulled some strings,” she said, leading them to a little curtained-off area with a bed. “Another nurse will see you in a minute, and then it hopefully won’t be much longer before you can see a doctor.”

“Thanks, Melissa,” he said gratefully. “I owe you one.”

He barely had time to set down the diaper bag before a young nurse came in. “Hi, there,” she said, shaking his hand. “Are you Dad?”

“No, I’m Dad’s boyfriend,” Stiles said, turning Elise in his arms so the nurse could see her better. “Dad will hopefully be here soon.”

The nurse asked a few questions, took Elise’s temperature, and gave her some baby Tylenol before promising that the doctor should be with them shortly.

Stiles ignored the available chair and climbed onto the bed instead, cradling Elise against his chest. The sudden onset and cessation of panic left him exhausted, down into his bones, but he was somehow also wired. It felt like grad school again, when he was working on zero to three hours of sleep along with copious amounts of caffeine.

Elise was managing to doze off, though, it seemed like, so he was careful to stay still and keep his breathing steady so he wouldn’t disturb her. He tried to distract himself with Fruit Ninja on his phone, but before long he was scouring the web for information on febrile seizures.

Stiles wasn’t sure how long it had been, maybe half an hour or so, when he heard Derek’s panicked voice coming from outside. He was throwing back the curtain a second later, his eyes stricken and his hair wilder than usual, as if he’d been running his hands through it.

“She’s okay,” Stiles said. His voice came out as a hoarse rasp, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “She’s totally fine now, I promise.”

“I had no idea there was no cell service in the coffee shop,” Derek said, his voice thick as he crept into the little room. “As soon as I stepped outside to leave, all your calls and texts came through.”

Derek pressed his lips against the back of Elise’s head, breathing harshly, and Stiles didn’t even think about it before lifting a hand to card through Derek’s hair. “I’m sorry. That I couldn’t reach you. I was so scared.”

“Scoot over,” Derek said, and Stiles did immediately, transferring Elise to Derek’s chest carefully after he joined him on the bed. He moved to get out of the bed, but Derek’s arm shot out to wrap around his shoulders, tugging him closer. Stiles leaned his cheek against Derek’s shoulder with a little smile and kept his hand on Elise’s back. “So you said…a seizure? Like epilepsy?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, it’s different, I was Googling. When they’re short like hers was, they’re usually harmless and just indicate that she’s getting sick. The nurse took her temperature earlier—she has a fever, and they gave her some baby Tylenol. The doctor should hopefully be here soon.”

Derek ran his fingertips down Elise’s back, impossibly gentle, and tightened his grip on Stiles’ shoulders. “I’m glad you were there.”

“Are you kidding? I totally freaked out.”

Derek made a soft noise. “I was terrified when I got your message, but I knew it would be okay because she was with you.”

Stiles swallowed—he had no idea what to say to that. “Anytime.”

* * *

Stiles stopped by Derek’s car and hesitated, rocking back on his heels. “Do you wanna—uh, be alone right now, or…”

Derek shook his head, looking pained. “No. Could you—could you come over? Follow me back? I still owe you dinner, anyway.”

With a snort, Stiles nodded, and they exchanged keys. He spotted the Jeep a few rows away and jogged over, waiting until Derek had Elise settled before starting the car and following them out of the parking lot.

They hadn’t had to wait much longer in the ER before they saw a doctor, who checked Elise carefully and repeated most of the information that Stiles had already Googled. They were supposed to keep a careful eye on Elise going forward—now that she’d had one febrile seizure, she was at a higher risk of having more—but as long as they were short and she didn’t hurt herself, everything should be fine.

Stiles pulled into the driveway right behind Derek and helped him bring everything in, taking a still-sleeping Elise while Derek juggled the diaper bag as well as his own messenger bag.

They were quiet as they went into the house. The poor kid was definitely sick, and she felt warm against Stiles’ chest. “She’s just so...fragile,” Derek said, looking at her with a slightly hopeless look on his face. It was adorable.

“Yeah, babies tend to be, dude,” Stiles said, smiling gently, and Derek rolled his eyes.

“Kids—kids in our family didn’t get sick very often,” he explained with a little frown. “I don’t really know how to deal with it.”

“The doctor said it was just a little virus. She should be as good as new in just a few days.”

Derek blew out a breath. “What if I’m not cut out for this dad thing?”

Well, that was out of the blue. Stiles jerked his head up, but Derek’s eyes were fixed firmly on Elise, still in Stiles’ arms. “Did you want kids? Before, I mean?”

Derek nodded. “Definitely. And I love Elise more than anything. But I wasn’t expecting to be handed a five-month-old while trying to deal with the death of my sister,” he said, his eyes hooded. “What if I’m not doing enough for her?”

“Hey,” Stiles soothed, shifting Elise to one arm so he could wrap the other around Derek’s waist. “As long as you love her, you have enough. You’re doing perfect. ”

Derek snorted and opened his mouth, but Elise stirred and interrupted him. Stiles shushed her, bouncing a little, but she twisted around. “ _Dada_ ,” Elise said as she made grabbing motions toward Derek, nearly toppling out of Stiles’ arms in her haste. “ _Dada, dada_.”

Derek’s eyes widened as he reached for her and settled her on his hip. “She’s never said that before,” he whispered, and Stiles tried to bite back his smile.

“I know,” he whispered back, even though he had no idea why they were whispering. Derek leaned his forehead against Elise’s temple, sniffing a little, and if Stiles wasn’t mistaken, there were a couple of tears slipping out.

“Are these happy tears or sad tears?” he asked softly. Derek didn’t answer, which he took to mean as _both_.

“I feel like I don’t deserve it,” he muttered finally, mostly into Elise’s hair. “She should have been calling someone else that.”

Stiles pressed his lips together. This was not a conversation to be having while standing up in the kitchen, so he grabbed Derek’s elbow and steered him into the living room. He pushed Derek down onto the couch and sat next to him, swinging both legs over his lap and caging Elise in between their arms.

“So you may not be her _father_ , technically,” Stiles started, “but she’s gonna grow up with you as her dad. And that makes her the luckiest girl around because you’re a fuckin’ awesome dad.”

Derek laughed a little and wiped his eye on his sleeve. “Okay, we should probably stop cursing now that she’s evidently talking.”

Stiles winced and crossed his heart. “Got it. We can start a swear jar.”

They sat there for a little while, hugging while Elise dozed off between them. Derek cleared his throat, his brow wrinkling a bit, and Stiles recognized that as his _I want to talk_ face. “I was never, uh, good at casual stuff before,” he started, “and now, especially...I just can’t. I don’t want to.”

“Hey, who says I want casual?”

“Stiles, I have a _kid_.”

“I’m well aware,” Stiles said, gesturing to where Elise sleeping in Derek’s lap. “Actually, I’m really only here for her. You’re just like a handsome bonus.”

Derek rolled his eyes but slung his arm around Stiles’ shoulders anyway. “It’s just—there’s been a lot of change recently.”

“I get it,” Stiles said. He gulped. Was this Derek’s version of a _it’s not you, it’s me_ speech? “If you wanna, uh, _stop_ for a while, I’d—”

“No, Derek said fiercely, squeezing harder. “No, not at all, just…slow, is slow okay? The way we’ve been going?”

Oh, thank fuck. “Of course.”

Derek looked down at Elise, working his jaw. “I, I wish I could spend more time with you, and I’m sure you’re expecting… _more_ , but she has to come first.”

“Hey, hey,” Stiles interrupted. “I _know_ she’s your priority, and that’s absolutely the way it should be. Obviously. I like you, Derek, like a lot, and I will happily take anything that you’re offering.”

“I like you a lot, too,” Derek said lowly, and Stiles tried to hide his smile by biting his lip. Expressing emotions through words wasn’t exactly Derek’s forte, and he’d learned to read between the lines.

* * *

Stiles forced his eyes open and flipped to his other side on the couch, trying to focus on the words on the page in front of him.

It wasn’t that late, but he was fucking exhausted. He was watching Elise again while Derek worked, and she had been particularly antsy all evening. Stiles was equally grumpy, as to be expected, but he tried to remind himself that babies didn’t just cry for no reason, and Elise was probably going through a growth spurt or something. He was proud of his mature rationality, even though it didn’t necessarily make him feel any better.

She was dozing now, though, _finally_ , stretched out on a blanket on the floor as the light of the nearly-full moon shone through the curtains. Stiles knew he should move her to her crib, but he figured he could let her sleep in peace until he finished his chapter, at least.

Her little snuffles were a pleasant background noise, but after the third time Stiles dozed off, he realized that he should just put both of them to bed.

But that damn blue stuffed bunny was in the middle of the floor, he realized a split-second before he tripped over it. His ankle twisted under his weight, and he hit the ground hard, right on his hip. “Fuck!” he exclaimed, then grimaced and closed his eyes. Goddamn it, he’d probably woken Elise up. He stilled, as if he could keep her asleep with the sheer power of his mind, but sure enough, there was a noise behind him.

He twisted around to check if she was really awake, then he screamed.

Because instead of the cute little infant that he was expecting, there was some kind of _creature_ lying there, one with extra hair and claws and glowing eyes and…were those _fangs_?

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed, blinking several times in a row and then slamming his eyes shut. Did he have a concussion? Was he hallucinating?

He peeked his eyes back open. Nope, his boyfriend’s daughter was still a…werewolf? What the _fuck_?

He rolled up onto his hands and knees, wincing as his ankle throbbed with pain. “Elise? Sweetie? Come here, baby,” he said, his voice shaky as he reached for her. She was _strong_ —stronger than she usually was, Stiles was pretty sure—and she flailed at him with her claws and fangs he wrestled her closer to his chest. Those were sharp little fuckers, _Christ_.

She was crying, all strangely raspy and growly—she sounded stressed out and sad and _horrible_. Stiles knew that for his own sanity he should trap her in her crib or something, if that could even contain her, but he just couldn’t put her down while she was so miserable. She’d probably hurt herself.

He checked himself the best he could—he was bleeding in multiple places, but none of them looked too bad, although he would definitely make a mess on Derek’s hardwoods.

“Yep, you just tore my shirt. With your claws. What the _fuck_ ,” he said with a little sob as he looked down at her. “God, did I accidentally ingest a hallucinogenic or something?”

He fumbled for his phone on the coffee table and paused, his finger hovering over Derek’s name. What the fuck was he supposed to say? _Sorry, dude, your daughter is apparently a monster_. If he was in fact having some sort of psychotic episode, which was really the only rational explanation here, his dad should probably know first.

Thankfully, he answered on the first ring.

“Dad!” he panted. “I’m at Derek’s and I’m watching Elise and she…holy shit all of a sudden she just _changed_ and she has fangs and claws and she’s hurting me. And her eyes are _glowing_. I’m pretty sure that this is just some kind of crazy nightmare, but I have no idea what’s going on and—”

“Stiles,” he interrupted. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, mostly,” he said, stock-still as he watched Elise tear at his shirt with her claws. “I think. Besides the psychotic break.”

“Everything’s going to be fine, okay? You need to trust me.”

“You seem a little too calm about this, dad!” Stiles yelled. “She has _fangs_ , I am not fucking kidding.”

“Stiles,” he said, and goddamn—that was his “soothing” voice that mostly just sounded stern. “I’m coming over, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay, but—Dad, hello?”

He had already hung up on him, fuck. Stiles tossed the phone across the room onto the couch and ran his free hand through his hair. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “He’s just gonna show up with a straitjacket, isn’t he.”

Not that Stiles would blame him, really, because he would never _ever_ believe this if he weren’t seeing it with his own two eyes.

Elise was still struggling in his grip, thrashing and crying and clawing at him, and he rearranged her weight as best he could. “Shh, baby girl,” he whispered. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise. Let’s sit and try to calm down, okay?”

He sat with his back against the wall and attempted to bring her closer. Maybe holding her tighter would help?

“Nope, sorry!” he yelped as her growls increased in intensity. “Okay, okay, fine, you can gnaw on my arm,” he said, wincing at the little pinpricks of pain. “But if I have to get a tetanus shot, I’m gonna be pissed, I swear.”

Elise didn’t respond to that, predictably, and Stiles blew out another breath. He was on the verge of a panic attack— _predictably_ —and he needed to get ahold of himself. He was still responsible for Elise, and he needed to be in his right mind.

Well, relatively.

In an attempt to calm both of them down, he started humming an old Polish nursery rhyme that his mom used to sing to him. He didn’t quite remember all the words, and he was pretty sure that his pronunciation was clumsy, but he had the tune down and Elise didn’t seem to care. She quieted down a little bit, actually, even though she was still flailing and scratching at him.

Suddenly multiple sets of headlights were fanning across the living room and car doors were slamming. Oh, god, the cavalry was here. Stiles instinctively held Elise closer—something bad was probably going to happen to at least one of them.

Derek tore through the door first, followed by Stiles’ dad and a tall, dark-haired woman who, considering their resemblance, was probably Derek’s mother.

“Oh my god, Stiles,” Derek said helplessly, crouching down in front of him. His mother immediately leaned in to whisk Elise out of Stiles’ arms and into her own.

“Hello, Stiles, I’m Talia,” she said, smiling softly at him as she expertly redirected Elise’s teeth from her arm. “It’s lovely to meet you, though I wish it could have been under better circumstances.”

“Uh, likewise,” he said, completely baffled as Derek helped him to his feet. Why the _fuck_ were they all acting like this was normal? They were probably just being nice, since Stiles was clearly having some sort of breakdown.

He yelped when he put weight on his sore ankle, and Derek slid an arm around his waist, taking most of his weight.

His dad was already wiping up the blood from the floor—okay, so _that_ part was real, at least—and Talia had her back turned to them, but she was holding Elise and seemed to be… _grumbling_ at her?

“Okay, will someone please tell me what the _fuck_ is going on? Sorry, Elise,” he added, cringing. “She’s heard me curse a lot in the last 15 minutes.”

Nobody said anything.

If Stiles were in a laughing mood, it would almost be comical the way John looked at Talia, who promptly turned to Derek. Her eyebrows were raised in the most stereotypical _mom_ look Stiles had ever seen, and Derek winced.

“Okay,” he said, blowing out a breath as he tightened his grip on Stiles’ waist, as if he was afraid he’d bolt. Was this when they were going to bring out the straitjacket? “So we—my family—are werewolves.”

Stiles blinked, then let out a short, slightly-hysterical laugh. “I’m sorry, _what_ now?”

“Werewolves. Like the—”

“I know what werewolves are!” Stiles yelled. “Are you—holy shit, I can’t breathe.”

He dropped his head, heaving for air as he tried to desperately organize the thoughts in his head. What the hell was going on? The person who he trusted most in the world and the person who was quickly climbing the ranks to number two—his dad and Derek, respectively—just told him that werewolves existed. Was he dreaming? It _felt_ like real life, but…werewolves!

Although…objectively speaking, werewolves were pretty fucking cool. It probably wouldn’t hurt if Stiles just went along with that theory, at least until he woke up.

He straightened up again and immediately smacked Derek in the arm. “What the fuck, man? You didn’t think this was _important to mention_?”

Derek grimaced, but before Stiles could yell at him some more, he spun around to face his dad, who was just standing there, looking completely calm. “And _you_! You don’t seem very surprised!”

Stiles was very familiar with his dad’s guilty face—it was the same one he got when someone brought doughnuts to the station—and he easily recognized it now.

“Oh my god, you _knew_?” Stiles asked, his voice going up to a startlingly-high pitch. He was being a little hysterical here, sure, but he figured of _all_ the times in his life, it was warranted.

“Uh, yes,” his dad said, straightening his shoulders a little as he nodded. “Yes, I did.”

Stiles glared at him. “Really,” he said flatly. “And you just never thought to tell me that there were _werewolves_ in Beacon Hills?”

“Well, it wasn’t my secret to tell. And you weren’t ever in any danger.”

Stiles pointedly gestured at himself, still dripping with blood, and Derek grimaced again. “Okay, this is my fault,” he said, and Stiles nodded emphatically, whirling back toward him.

“Yes, yes I agree. Let’s get back to that. So you never thought to tell me that you were leaving me alone with a _baby werewolf_?”

“We didn’t know!” he exclaimed, and Stiles gave him a look. Derek took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was much more measured. “I am a born werewolf. So is—so was Laura. But her husband was human, which meant that there was a 50 percent chance Elise was human. Most babies shift for the first time when they’re really young, so we assumed she was human.”

“There isn’t much known about why babies shift for the first time,” Talia chimed in, “except that it usually happens before six months of age. But now that we know she _is_ a werewolf, we can assume she probably experienced a great emotional trauma when her parents died. That might have delayed the shift for some reason.”

“Did anything happen before she shifted?” Derek asked.

“No, she was just—wait, yeah,” Stiles said, remembering. “She was asleep, then I tripped and fell and woke her up, which is when she went all _grr_.”

Talia hummed. “It was probably the stress of you being hurt that triggered it, she was instinctively trying to protect you.”

“Well,” Stiles said, blinking slowly, “that’s very kind of her, considering that the assailant was a stuffed bunny rabbit.”

Talia smiled. Stiles shook off Derek’s arm and limped over toward her. Elise’s eyes were still glowing gold, but there were no claws or fangs that Stiles could see. “Is she okay?” he asked, taking Elise’s little hand and pressing a kiss to it.

“You aren’t scared of her?” Derek asked from behind him, and Stiles turned around so that the eye roll wasn’t wasted.

“I mean, I’m not used to infants with claws and _fangs_ , but no, of course not. She was the one who seemed scared, I was just trying to comfort her.” Derek and Talia exchanged glances, and Stiles gasped as something occurred to him. “Wait—oh, god, am I a werewolf now? She did bite me. Like, a _lot_.”

Talia smiled at him again. “No, dear. She’s a beta. In order to be turned, you’d need to be bitten by an alpha.”

“I’m gonna guess that’s you,” he said, and her smile turned into more of a smirk, one that reminded him of Derek’s.

“Yes,” she said simply, and Stiles nodded. This was the weirdest meet-the-parents scenario that he could possibly imagine. That said, he’d never been in a relationship with a werewolf before.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Derek said, taking his hand gingerly, and Stiles nodded. He limped after Derek into the bathroom and hopped up onto the counter. Derek pulled out a remarkably large case from under the sink, and Stiles snorted.

“Wow. That’s quite the first aid kit you’ve got there,” he said, and Derek smiled.

“Werewolves have accelerated healing, so I’m not really used to this kind of stuff. And I thought my daughter was human.”

“Which was contributing to the stress,” Stiles surmised, and Derek nodded. He did in fact seem to be a little confused by the sheer plethora of items in the first aid kit, and Stiles took mercy on him, pointing to the antibacterial wipes. “They just need to be wiped clean. You can put band-aids on any bigger ones, especially if any of them are still bleeding.”

Derek frowned as he gently wrestled Stiles’ ruined t-shirt off of him and stared at all the bloody scrapes. He sighed and started to wipe gently at the longest one, near his shoulder. It stung, but Stiles bit his lip to avoid making any noise.

“You seem...freaked out.”

“Of course I’m freaked out!” Stiles said, a little louder than he intended, and Derek shrunk back. He took a deep breath. “I’m freaked out, Derek, because my entire world view just changed. I just got chomped on by a baby werewolf, for fuck’s sake. I am allowed to be freaked out.”

“Okay,” Derek said quietly. “I really am sorry.”

Stiles sighed. “I know,” he said, then watched as Derek methodically started to clean the worst of his scrapes. “Show me.”

Derek froze. “What?”

“ _Show_ me,” Stiles said again, slower this time. “I am assuming you have full control of your werewolf appendages, considering that I’ve never seen them.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_ , oh my god.”

His eyes glowed, the same warm gold as Elise’s, and he obediently opened his mouth to show off the fangs. They were way scarier-looking than Elise’s tiny ones, which still tore up Stiles’ skin. He could hardly imagine the destruction that Derek could wield with those. He swallowed.

“Whoa,” Stiles breathed, tugging on Derek’s shirt to pull him closer. “Werewolves really are real. Now do the whole thing with the face and the hair.”

He cracked his neck and then just _changed_ —his brow shifting and…where did his eyebrows go?

“How do you learn to control it?”

“Takes time and practice,” he said, his words a little garbled. “My mom and I can help Elise. I won’t let her hurt you again.”

“I trust you,” Stiles said absently as he stroked one finger along Derek’s fang.

All of a sudden, he was human again and leaning in for a kiss. Stiles flinched but forced himself to stay still. This was _Derek_. He would never hurt him. They’d kissed a thousand times.

“You don’t smell scared,” Derek murmured.

“I told you I—wait, wait, _wait_ ,” Stiles said, holding up a hand as he pulled back. “You can _smell_ emotions?”

Derek winced and took a step back out of Stiles’ grip. “Yes, but…it’s, uh, considered rude and I try not to.”

Stiles frowned. “How much can you tell about people?”

“Um,” he said, his eyes a little shifty, “kind of a lot. Our senses are really good.”

Stiles sighed. “You could tell I was attracted to you from the beginning, couldn’t you?”

Derek bit his lip. “Uh, yeah, kinda.”

“Then why didn’t you do something about it?” Stiles said, smiling and smacking him on the chest with the back of his hand. “We coulda been mackin’ on each other that whole time.”

Derek’s face was serious as he moved to the scratches on Stiles’ arm. “It seemed too one-sided, too unfair. I wanted it to be like—to be like normal people.”

“Okay, that’s a decent point, I get it. And you’re probably so used to everyone smellin’ like lust around you that you don’t even notice it anymore,” he said. Derek flushed, all the way from the back of his neck and the tips of his ears to his cheeks, and Stiles crowed. “Oh my god, it’s _true_!”

“Shut up,” he said mulishly, tipping his head down to focus. After a minute, he said softly, “You were singing to her.”

“You could hear that?” Stiles asked, then rolled his eyes. “Forget I said that, of course you could. But yeah, of course I was trying to make her feel better. I mean, it was still my responsibility to take care of her.”

Derek’s brow crinkled in thought, and it was mostly quiet between them while he finished bandaging up Stiles’ wounds. “Is your ankle still sore?” he asked, and Stiles nodded.

Derek stripped off his sock and cradled his ankle in his hands. “Whoa,” Stiles whispered. The pain was slowly seeping away, leaving a tingling, numbing sensation in its place instead.

“It doesn’t heal,” Derek explained, while Stiles’ eyes were locked to the black veins licking up his forearms. “Just takes away the pain.”

“So…is this why you wanted to take things slow?” Stiles asked, fiddling with the edge of a bandage. “You thought I would just, what, scream and run when I found out?”

Derek gently covered Stiles’ hand with one of his own, stilling the movement. “It wouldn’t be the first time. But also for the other reasons,” he allowed.

“But you _were_ planning to tell me, right?” he asked, and Derek nodded emphatically.

“I was. I promise.”

Stiles nodded. “So—is Twilight a true story?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Vampires don’t exist,” he said, and Stiles scoffed.

“Yeah, you can see where I’m loath to believe you. I am going to have _so_ many questions.”

Derek sighed, clearly trying to sound put-upon, but the little smile ruined it. “Somehow that isn’t surprising.”

“Well, you better get used to it because I don’t think Google will help me in this situation,” Stiles said, then paused. “Wait, _will_ Google help me?”

“No,” Derek said emphatically. “And stay away from the porn.”

Stiles’ eyes lit up. “Question one: do you or do you not have a knot? Do you go into heat? Is it like, a mate-for-life situation?”

Derek looked pained. “ _No_ , to all of the above. I regret this immediately.”

“Do you actually howl at the moon? Eat cute little bunnies?”

“We’re not…killers,” Derek said, his face scrunched up, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, figured that one out already, thanks. You got pissed when I killed that spider last week instead of just taking it outside.”

Derek snorted and helped Stiles down off the counter.

His dad and Talia were talking quietly when they walked back into the living room, and his dad jumped up. “You doing okay, son?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling tightly. “I’m good.”

“He’s not lying,” Talia said, sounding a little too confident, and Stiles turned to face Derek with narrow eyes.

“Oh, yeah? What, can you smell that, too?”

“We can hear it, dear,” she said gently. “Your heartbeat.”

Stiles opened his mouth, then closed it again a few seconds later when nothing came out. “I am suddenly reliving every conversation we’ve ever had.”

His dad laughed, that traitor, and Stiles glared at him.

“Well, I think you two have things under control now. We’ll get out of your hair,” Talia said, handing Elise back to Derek. She was sleeping peacefully now, completely human, and Derek tucked his nose into her neck.

“Thanks Mom, Sheriff.”

Stiles hugged his dad. “We’re going to meet up soon, and you’re going to tell me _everything_.”

“Over burgers and beer?” he asked hopefully, and Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, whatever. Now get out of here.”

Talia hugged him, too, which surprised him a little. “Very nice to meet you, dear.”

Derek closed the door behind them with a heavy sigh, then turned to Stiles. The unmasked desire in his eyes made Stiles’ breath hitch, and he took an unconscious step closer.

“You should stay over. If you want,” Derek said, and Stiles grinned.

“Yeah. Yeah, I want.”

“Okay,” he said, with a little smile. “Let me go put her down.”

Stiles putzed around the house, turning out the lights and making sure that the doors were locked, before he made his way back to Derek’s bedroom.

“I very much appreciate that sexy look in your eyes—like _so_ much, you don’t even know—but I feel like I’ve been on the verge of a breakdown for the past hour,” Stiles blurted out, twisting his hands together. “Not to be presumptuous or anything, but can I take a rain check on the orgasms til, like, the morning?”

Derek nodded immediately and held out his hand. “You wanna just get in bed? We can put on a movie or something.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said lowly, taking Derek’s hand and letting himself be pulled closer. They kissed for a minute, slow and lazy, and Stiles traced his fingers against the soft skin of Derek’s low back under his shirt.

He pulled back, watching openly and biting his lip as Derek stripped all the way down to a pair of black briefs. The guy was fucking _built_ and just so incredibly gorgeous, so much so that Stiles was regretting his decision to forgo sex for the night. But he still kinda felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin at the slightest provocation, so he knew it was probably for the best.

“You gonna sleep in those clothes?” Derek asked, breaking Stiles’ reverie, and he stuck his tongue out at the little smirk on Derek’s face. His shirt was still off from when Derek had bandaged him up, so he just squirmed out of his jeans and shamelessly crawled in between the covers.

Derek followed suit, climbing in bed with his back to Stiles. Stiles wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed the swirls of his tattoo, the one that he’d heard about but never seen.

“Does it turn you on that I’m _not_ scared?” he whispered, and Derek’s back stiffened in his grip. He flipped over, slowly, and Stiles grinned when he saw that his eyes were glowing gold. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

Derek let out a little huffing laugh and slid even closer, tangling their legs together as he stuck his nose in Stiles’ neck. “I don’t get to be myself around very many people,” he said softly. “And never…never like _this_.”

Stiles playfully tugged on his hair and gave his dick a strict silent reminder to _behave_. “Yeah, well, now you have me.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Be my friend on Tumblr!](http://leslieknopeismyshiningstar.tumblr.com/)


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